There are certain things we hold sacred in Melbourne. The right to drop letters from suburb names (Pran, Esseddon). The ability to get gelato at 11pm. And the knowledge that, no matter how bad it gets, our team could always win the premiership flag.
Fairness is at the heart of Australian rules football. It’s not an accident – the AFL works hard to create that impression. Its equalisation policy, based on US sporting leagues and introduced in 2014, formalises a balance between every club. Salary and expenditure caps limit the ease with which teams can gain an advantage. It promotes a theoretical sameness that allows us to barrack for the underdog and come back next week.
“Fairness” gives every fan the chance to believe. Footy has long been an equaliser – a chance for people of every class to succeed, to align themselves with a winning side. That’s what has made it so important in communities, giving common ground for lovers of the game to relate, commiserate and celebrate. It’s why we’re willing to invest so much of ourselves in something that ultimately doesn’t matter that much. The system will support us. We’re safe here.
When that’s compromised, it’s an insult to our unwavering support. Maybe that’s on us. It’s possible that creating a whole personality out of your love of the Geelong football club for the past 40 years was bound to set you up for disappointment and maybe you should try having some of your own achievements.
But given the demand that players – from benchwarmers to captains – be corporate citizens at all times, even on Mad Monday, any misstep from the administration is noticeable. The allegation this week that an AFL field umpire leaked Brownlow votes from matches this year isn’t just disappointing (and illegal). It’s a strike against fairness.
Umpiring is, by its nature, fraught by human error. Premierships have been won and lost on a ball that was definitely, absolutely, unquestionably touched but called otherwise. But we’ve always had to believe the umpires were trying to get it right. We have to, otherwise what are we doing?
That’s not to say we like AFL umpires. We don’t. That’s our role in the performance. Players kick the ball, umpires make decisions, and we sit on our behinds and yell about how much better we are at the rules. We even rage against the new review system, which is meant to use machine learning to be infallible.
But we still believe.
The game lives or dies by the understanding that it is – ultimately – balanced. Umps might pay heaps of frees against my team this week but I know in my heart we’ll soon have a game when the umpiring goes our way. Ultimately, the equilibrium rights itself.
AFL umpires take their role in the Brownlow voting more seriously than any of us probably do anything. Almost all of them treat it with reverence. There’s an understanding within umpire circles that talking about it is forbidden. They don’t even joke. Not a hint. The way you distribute your three votes after each match is an honour bestowed on you by the AFL gods. It is sacrosanct.
An individual defying that rule – the unspoken one and the actual legal requirement – shows a crack in the system. The explicitly equalised system.
This betting scandal is far from the first we’ve seen in professional sport in this country. Throwing matches is a time-honoured Australian cricketing tradition. Braking horses is an open secret in racing. But in football? Our football?
It calls into question what else could be going on. When the foundations crack, the whole thing begins to collapse, and the AFL is beginning to look pretty wobbly. Hawthorn’s cultural report findings. The revolving door leadership team at Essendon. Collingwood’s cultural report findings. With every new scandal, the system creaks.
If we don’t all have the same chance of winning, what do we have? This week’s allegations undermine the sanctity of umpiring, of the equalisation policy, of investigations and oversight, and of putting every part of your heart into loving the game.
We hold AFL players to reasonable scrutiny in this city. Rightly so – they’re role models for everyone from the very young to the very old. Their off-field behaviour is called into question just as often as what happens on the ground. We ask them to lead by example and, above all else, to act with integrity.
The Brownlow medal count isn’t just a chance to fall asleep in front of the TV. It’s a celebration of football’s best and fairest. It reflects the game’s equality by design, that it can turn on a dime, that we can always came out on top.
This week’s news corrupts the one thing every footy fan holds dear: the chance to believe.
